


Hush Little Baby

by ficforthought



Series: Various Weechester ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, John Winchester Tries, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Sam Winchester, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficforthought/pseuds/ficforthought
Summary: John can't get a crying baby Sam to settle, luckily Dean knows just what to do. John's PoV.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Various Weechester ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903729
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	Hush Little Baby

John Winchester looks down at the baby he’s desperately trying to hold still in his arms, taking a few breaths to try and calm himself as he walks faster around the living room of their shitty rent by the month apartment. Sammy has been crying non stop for almost an hour, but instead of wearing himself out like he has in the past he’s only becoming more and more distressed. His face is bright red and sweaty, chubby cheeks stained with barely dried tears before a fresh wave pours over them. The boy must be well on the way to screaming himself hoarse by now, but still he keeps going, “Come on, kiddo,” John pleads, hearing the tension in his own voice, “I don’t know what you want me to do.”  
  
“Is Sammy sick?” comes a tired voice from behind him.  
  
John turns around to see a sleep rumpled Dean, rubbing at one eye and holding out one of his brother’s favourite stuffed toys with his other hand, “He’s fine, Dean, he’s just a little grumpy. Go back to bed, buddy.”  
  
Dean looks at him and then at Sam who’s started wriggling even more, kicking his legs out and tensing his whole body. His cries get even louder and John’s eldest winces, almost running over to where his father stands, the bear dropped to the floor in his haste to get to them. He goes up on his tiptoes and takes hold of Sam’s hand, the baby’s fingers reflexively wrapping round his brother’s, “Sammy, please don’t cry,” he says, distress clear on his young face. With his other hand he makes a ‘come here’ gesture and John bends so that Dean can reach. The older boy immediately lays the back of his hand on Sam’s forehead, then runs it over his bare chest, arms and legs, “He’s too hot, daddy. Is he hungry, did you give him his bottle?”  
  
John’s a little taken aback, “Of course I did, and he’s got a fresh diaper, he’s just cranky.”  
  
“Did you wind him properly?” Dean frowns, “His tummy gets full of gas if he drinks too quickly.”  
  
“ _I know that_ ,” John snaps, feeling the bundle in his arms tensing even more, the cries that had softened slightly getting louder again, “I said go back to bed, Dean, do as you’re told.” He resumes his pacing, trying to rock his son but the smallest Winchester is still moving too much, his screams hurting John’s eardrums.  
  
“You’re doing it wrong,” Dean says, matter of factly, “he doesn’t like being on his back like that.”  
  
Sleep deprivation starts getting the better of him, then, “That’s _enough_ , Dean, I know how to look after my own damn child!”  
  
The boy glares at him, his little fists curling at his sides for a minute before he takes a breath, “I know, daddy, but just let me try,” he says, holding out his arms, “please?”  
  
John sighs in frustration and if he’s honest, a little embarrassment, “Fine,” he says, handing Sam over, “be careful, he’s getting big.”  
  
“I can do it.” Dean replies, sounding irritated. He lifts Sam up by his armpits, pulling him upright and holding him to his skinny chest. He tucks one hand under the baby’s butt, the other covering Sam’s hand which is already clenched into a fist in Dean’s pyjama top, “Heya Sammy,” he says softly into his brother’s hair where he’s laid his head on the older boy’s shoulder, “what’s the matter, huh?” Dean starts to pace around the room, gently rocking the small body, “It’s alright, Sammy, don’t be sad. I don’t like it when you’re sad.”  
  
John is astounded when his youngest son’s screams quieten to regular, exhausted crying, his body almost still, slumped against his brother’s chest. He watches as Dean strokes Sam’s back, shushing him and humming a lullaby until the cries finally die down to sobbing breaths. Dean sits down on the edge of the sofa, balancing Sam on one of his own skinny legs, cradled in his arm. Expertly he reaches out for the pack of baby wipes, opening the box one handed and fishing out one of the cloths. He leans back and gently cleans Sam’s face of tears and snot, discarding the wipe on the coffee table before pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I got you, little brother,” he says, shuffling them so he’s propped up by the back of the sofa, Sam cradled against his chest again. He uses his free hand to wrap the blanket around his young charge and tucks it securely around him, “go to sleep, Sammy,” he coos, brushing soft brown hair off the sticky forehead before placing another kiss there, “I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise.”  
  
Soon both boys fall asleep but John can’t bring himself to move them. Sam’s breath occasionally hitches and each time it does Dean's small hands hold him tighter, reassuring his baby brother that he’s keeping his word and not going anywhere. John covers them both with a blanket then sits watching them as he drinks a glass of whiskey, hoping with a heavy heart that Mary isn’t looking down on them. He can’t bear the thought of how disappointed she might be that he’s failing both her and their children, because at this moment their five year old is a better father than him.


End file.
